


let me fill you(r heart's desire)

by wednesday



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-08-14 01:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: The first time Dorian meets Hawke, he happens to be in a dusty storage room.





	let me fill you(r heart's desire)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luffymarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luffymarra/gifts).

Crestwood is in a word miserable. Dorian didn’t think anywhere could be worse than that mire Lavellan dragged him to, but there was at least some dry land there, if not much. Here the water is falling from the sky in amounts that frankly should be impossible. Every step outside is like having a bucket of river water emptied over one’s head. Accordingly Dorian is dripping wet and absolutely done with everything. 

So done that he no longer cares if he’s seen wearing literal rags as long as he’s warm. A scout unlucky enough to get stuck inventorying this keep directs Dorian to a couple of storage rooms that should have something dry. 

The room of course is dusty and filled with crate after crate of unlabeled something, so Dorian sighs and resigns himself to a long search. 

That’s when the door bangs open, and someone falls inside and hastily closes and locks it. When Dorian clears his throat pointedly, the man jumps and whirls around with a yelp. He’s tall, dark haired and currently more than a little wild eyed. After double-checking that Dorian is the only other person in the room he visibly relaxes. 

Dorian leans back against a crate, crosses his arms and rises his eyebrow. 

“You don’t look like a Seeker,” the man says. Then he takes another, slower look at Dorian and Dorian can almost feel the way his eyes linger on all the places the wet clothes are clinging to. The South is full with all kinds of new experiences, it seems. “Though I’d be willing to turn myself in, if you were.” 

Hiding in a supply room from Cassandra gives Dorian a good idea who this is. 

“Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall.” 

“Call me Hawke.” He smiles at Dorian in a way that somehow manages to look like an innuendo. It’s either impressive or, well, Dorian’s imagination. 

“You’re… not quite what I expected,” Dorian says and tilts his head to look more like he’s considering how well Hawke matches up to some idea in his mind. He makes sure his own gaze lingers just as much as Hawke’s did a minute ago. The truth is he looks surprisingly more handsome than Varric’s books make him out to be. Dorian suspects Varric might even have been downplaying the charm somewhat. 

“Better, I hope?” Hawke seems to brighten at the attention. He looks around the room once more and takes a step closer. “So, what’s someone like you doing in a place like this?” 

“Someone like me?” 

“Well, you know, all...” Hawke takes another slow look at Dorian’s clothes and all the places where their state leaves very little to the imagination. “Wet.” 

“Looking for dry clothes, so I can get these off,” Dorian gestures at his body, and Hawke looks down again as if he can’t help himself. As he should, really – Dorian is very pleasant to look at. 

“You look like you might need some help. A hand maybe? I’m very good with my hands.” Hawke looks at Dorian hopefully. It’s adorable that he thinks Dorian isn’t convinced yet. 

“Please do,” Dorian says, and spreads his arms in invitation. 

For a moment Hawke’s eyes look strangely serious, like he’s trying to judge if Dorian is serious or if this is still all part of a game. Then he smiles a truly filthy smile and closes the distance between them in a single step. 

“I’m very very happy to help,” he says and then freezes with his hands on the buckle of Dorian’s belt for a moment. “So, what do I call you?” he asks offhand, as he resumes undoing Dorian’s clothes. It startles a laugh out of Dorian and it takes him a moment to stop. This is all ridiculously impossible, and it’s happening in a way that Dorian is almost but not quite familiar with. 

“Dorian.” 

“Hmm, Dorian. I like it. So, Dorian,” Hawke says as he slides his scorching hot palms under Dorian’s shirt, “Am I going to get a reward for helping you?” Hawke’s lips brush against Dorian’s jaw as he asks it, and Dorian shivers hard enough that Hawke definitely notices. 

“I’m sure I’ll, ah–” Dorian moans when Hawke presses one of his thighs right against Dorian’s groin, “think of something.” Hawke pulls Dorian’s shirt up and finally gets it off him. For a few moments his eyes map Dorian’s chest, and then he looks up. There’s some kind of indecision in his face, so Dorian simplifies it for him and turns around. He leans forward until he can rest his elbows on a crate and makes sure to press his ass back against Hawke, who is very interested in the proceedings judging by how hard his cock feels even through layers of clothes. 

Hawke gasps and grips Dorian’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. 

He gets through the ties of Dorian’s trousers impressively fast and pushes them down, though he doesn’t bother to get them all the way off. Once they’re down to Dorian’s knees, Hawke abandons the task in favor of running his hands over Dorian’s thighs and then ass. He takes his time, squeezes playfully, and Dorian wavers between pleasure and frustration. 

He hears something fall on one of the crates and then one of Hawke’s hands returns covered in oil. Hawke presses two of his – very thick, Dorian suddenly realizes – fingers inside at once. It already feels like a lot, like Dorian’s stretched to the limit, and Hawke’s fingers somehow still get deeper with every careful yet relentless thrust. 

Hawke prepares him thoroughly, but he’s no longer lingering – the moment Dorian relaxes enough to start pushing back, he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock. Dorian’s unhappy sound at the temporary emptiness is cut off by a loud moan when Hawke’s cock fills him. Hawke’s thrusts are fast from the start, and it takes no time at all until his cock is all the way in. It feels delightfully thick and when Hawke pauses, Dorian is thankful to have a moment to adjust. 

When Hawke starts thrusting again, starts fucking him in earnest, his thrusts are just hard enough to make Dorian feel like it’s too much. He doesn’t even try to stay silent, moans and pleas spilling from his lips as he tries to keep up with Hawke’s ruthless pace. It’s maddening and perfectly overwhelming, every other thrust hitting just right to make Dorian see stars. 

Then Hawke adjusts his grip on Dorian’s hips and suddenly every single thrust hits that spot head on. Dorian barely lasts another minute before he comes untouched with a shout loud enough to wake half the keep. 

He feels hot and oversensitive when he comes back to himself, and Hawke’s cock still feels stupidly huge inside him. Hawke’s thrusts get shorter and faster as he nears his own completion. Dorian tries to shift, change the angle, but it doesn’t help much. He gives up, tries to relax and commit to memory every pleasure-pain-pleasure filled moment of impossible intensity. Another half a dozen thrusts and Hawke comes as well. The feeling of his cock pulsing as he spills inside Dorian makes him shiver with pleasure. 

Hawke half collapses on top of Dorian, his face pressed against the back of Dorian’s neck. Dorian decides to let him, since Hawke is warm. 

“That might have been more of a reward for me,” Dorian says after a minute, when both their breaths have evened out. 

“Mmm,” Hawke hums against Dorian’s skin. “So what you’re saying is you still owe me a reward?” 

What a fascinating idea. Dorian only considers it for a couple of moments before he decides he likes it. 

“Absolutely not.” 

Hawke apparently takes it as his cue to stop crushing Dorian and gets back up. He pulls out and Dorian winces at the sudden emptiness. He only continues when he’s upright enough to see Hawke’s face. 

“I owe you two.” 

Hawke’s expression goes from forcibly neutral to indecent almost instantly, and he leans in for a kiss. It lasts longer than he probably expects, once Dorian gets over his surprise and kisses back. 

They only stop when the voices of Cassandra and Varric become audible, an argument of some kind that seems to be nearing the storage room. 

“Well, that’s my sign,” Hawke says, and he does look apologetic as he hastily makes his way to a window. “Find me whenever you think of that reward.” With that he disappears out the window and into the pouring rain. 

Dorian only notices then that he has Hawke’s cloak around his shoulders. Seems like Hawke really means it. The South is delightful. 

So are Varric and Cassandra’s expressions when they find Dorian. 


End file.
